


These Old Bones

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pain, Werewolf Chris Argent, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:26:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: "It was just a little fall.” He closed his eyes and let his body rest for a moment. Just a moment. He was already sinking into Peter’s embrace when the low, rumbling growl made his eyes reopen.“I noticed your limp. A few more ‘little falls’ and you won’t be getting out of bed.”





	These Old Bones

It was a twenty-minute drive through the woods every night for Chris to get home. There were no lights, only the glowing of yellow eyes between the trees and the sounds of the river to guide his way. It was a small little cabin that invited in the cold like a welcomed guest and ensured the fireplace would be well used even in the summer months. It wasn’t anything like the sprawling mansion Chris had grown up. It smelled like whiskey and ash, but it was his and that made it more home than anything else had ever been. 

Chris fought back a grunt as a bump in the road caused a tingling discomfort to run down his spine. His joints ached when he hit too many rocky patches of earth along the way. He wasn’t an old man enough yet that he felt compelled to fix them, but sooner or later it would have to happen. Until then he would deal with the creaking of his bones and the pain in his wrists when the car jostled a little too roughly. 

The lights of the cabin came into view just as Chris’s eyes began to burn. The older he got the harder it was to see through the darkness. As he left the vehicle he saw a few small movements inside the house. Peter’s silhouette appeared in the window and hovered there. 

Chris gave a small wave. His wrist spiked with a tingling, electric pain. At least the darkness could hide the stiffness in his knees. The chill wrapped around him like an overcoat and brushed tickled his nose. 

Peter was opening the door for him a second later. The warmth from the fireplace beckoned him inside. Chris walked in and had only just finished pulling off his coat when Peter’s arms wrapped around his torso. 

“You smell like acid,” said Peter, his breath hot against Chris’ chilled ear. “What happened?” 

“Nothing,” said Chris. He leaned back into Peter’s chest. 

“Don’t bullshit me.” 

Peter’s hands snaked underneath his shirt. His fingers were cold but soft as they kneaded gently against Chris’s hip. Years of doing dirty work and they were still soft, nothing like Chris’s own calloused hands, dry and cracked and hardened from holding guns and chopping wood. “I can smell it all over you.” 

Chris sighed. “It was just a little fall.” He closed his eyes and let his body rest for a moment. Just a moment. He was already sinking into Peter’s embrace when the low, rumbling growl made his eyes reopen. 

“I noticed your limp. A few more ‘little falls’ and you won’t be getting out of bed.” Peter’s fingers pressed into his hip. His nails were sharp but painless as they dug into his side and kneaded there.

A soft sensation washed over Chris, like a warm shower in the frozen night. The ache in his joints slowly and methodically ebbed away. First, the howling of his back quieted to a mere whimper of discomfort, then, the searing, in his wrist dulled, and finally, his knees relaxed. 

Peter’s lips ghosted over the shell of his ear. The stubble of his chin tickled against his own. 

“Thank you,” said Chris as his pain faded from his body. His eyelids grew heavy but his brain was listless. He turned his head and planted a soft kiss to Peter’s lips. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not an old man. Not yet.” 

Peter’s arms tightened around his body. He made a small hum and nipped at his ear. 

“What’d you make?” Chris asked, just to fill the silence between them. 

“Soup.” 

“What’s in it?” 

“Rabbit and venison. Same as always.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious, as always.” 

“You’ll fall asleep before you even get to taste it, as always,” Peter said. His lips pressed to Chris’s once more before his arms fell away. 

Chris pulled off his mud encrusted boots and set them beside the door while Peter returned to his pot. The crackling of the fire was the only sound the little cabin ever made aside from a few creaks here and there along the floorboards. Peter always promised to fix them but Chris hoped he never would. He liked their little home just as it was. 

He fell onto the bed as soon as he was finished. His lids were heavy as he sat with his back against the headboard and his eyes on the metal cooking pot hanging above the fireplace. 

Peter stirred it a few times before leaving it alone. When he looked back at Chris his blue eyes were shadowed by strange light the flames cast around the fire. 

“What?” Chris asked. 

“Stop going out.” 

Chris grunted. “We’re not having this conversation.” 

“It hurts you. If you were a cat they’d have you put down.” 

“Not having this conversation.” 

“And who do you think will care for you when you’re too brittle to eat by yourself?” 

“I assume my loving husband.” 

Peter crossed his arms. “He’d feed you to the wolves.” 

“Asshole.”

“Seriously.” 

“Seriously, what? You want me to just ignore the fact that there are monsters out there? Monsters who want to kill innocent kids? Who-“ 

“It’s not your problem anymore. There are others who can take your place.”

Chris clenched his jaw. There were others, but they were younger and less experienced. They were just as likely to get themselves killed as they were to save someone. 

Peter’s eyes softened. “I feel your pain when you come home. Your body is breaking.” 

“And what do you want me to do about that? It’s already broken.” 

Peter’s eyes melted from blue to red. For a moment, he thought it was just a reflection of the fire that danced in his pupils. 

“No,” Chris said. 

Peter snarled. “Why not?” A set of pointed teeth descended behind his lips. 

“It’s too late. People my age almost never survive.” 

“You’re barely surviving now,” Peter snapped. “On good days you’re suffering, you can barely walk, and on the bad ones, you almost cry when you get out of bed. All that ‘good’ you do has wrecked you for good unless something changes.” 

“I’m not sure my entire DNA is the thing that needs to change.” 

“Are willing to change anything else? No? Then this is it.”

“Peter,” Chris paused. He thought of the way Peter’s eyes flared when he came home with an injury, no matter how small. How he was always so quick to open the door when he got home and sniff all over his body for wounds. He thought of what Peter might do if the bite didn’t take. “It’s complicated.” 

“It isn’t. It’s one little bite. You’ll hardly feel it.” 

Chris gave him a mirthless smile. “Now I know that’s a lie.” 

“Why won’t you just do this for me?” Peter’s nails dug into his arms. 

“I _am_ doing this for you.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“What would you do if I died?” 

The red in Peter’s glare flickered. The crystalline blue shined through the red for less than half a second He opened his mouth and then swallowed his words. 

“That’s right, you don’t know what you would do. I can’t be the one to make you lose your mind. Not  
after all we’ve been through.” 

“You won’t die,” Peter said. “I know you won’t. You can’t.”

“I can. I could. One day I will.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true. One day I will die Peter.” 

“Do I have to watch you do it?” Peter asked. “I hate seeing you this way.”

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“Then let me bite you. Trust me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then let me do this.” Peter moved closer until he stood in front of the bed. He held his hand out, his claws had retreated back into dull human nails. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Chris looked away, back towards the window and the star-filled sky. He missed when he and Peter could spend their nights outdoors, climbing the overgrown trails and bathing in the moon soaked lakes that dotted the forests. It was impossible now that Chris’s body could barely stand the drive and the cold stiffened his joints and locked his jaw. He missed the way their warm hands pressed together and they could be free and alone, unconfined to a little cabin and the property within eyesight. 

“Okay,” said Chris. He took Peter’s hand and squeezed it tight. Their fingers twined together. “Do it quick before I change my mind.” 

Peter kissed his forehead. He smiled at him, a tight-lipped, saddened smile. Chris drank it in and tried to memorize it before he faded out and either became a were, or died in the process.

A pain so sharp it brought tears to his eyes coursed through Chris’s body as Peter’s teeth sunk into his throat. He tried to hold in the scream but only exceeding in strangling his own voice. Peter gripped his hair tight and held him as he thrashed. One hand stayed fisted in his hair while the other wrapped around his torso. 

It felt like forever but each time Chris managed to force his eyes open the sky was still dark and the fire was still hot. Peter shushed him and wiped the tears from his face as they spilled down his cheeks. He hated it. He hated crying. He hated that Peter always had to be the one holding him together when things should have been the other way around. He was Peter’s anchor. He was supposed to be the stable foundation on which they built their lives. At last the ripping and tearing in his chest became too much and his vision faded. 

The last thing he felt was Peter’s face pressed against his own and warm breath on his lips. 

 

Peter sat on the little log bench outside his cabin. He left all the windows and doors open in hopes that the scent of Chris’s pain would get swept away by the morning wind. The little wafts he got here and there made him want to throw up. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer. He needed to get out. An entire night of suffering he had to endure. 

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” he asked as he heard Chris approaching through the trees. 

“Yeah,” said Chris. He smiled, one of his first, pain-free smiles in years. His eyes went yellow-gold, bright and beautiful, even more so than the sunrise behind him. “I can hear everything. Even the birds.” 

“Good,” said Peter with a chuckle. “Then maybe you can be the one to catch dinner tonight.” 

“I’ve always wanted to try duck. Think there are any out on the lake?” 

“Let’s go find out,” said Peter. He stood up and twined his fingers with Chris’s. He squeezed them tight. His hands were still calloused and Peter wouldn’t have had it any other way. “Now you get to learn how to hunt werewolf style.”

“I’ve seen you do it and I’m not impressed.” 

Peter growled and leaned up to nip at his ear. 

Chris gave him a playful shove back. 

They walked down the path that had once been the cause of so much suffering for Chris. Peter couldn’t scent a single ounce of pain in him. As they went Peter's eyes fixated on Chris and the faded scar on his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked please leave a comment, thank you n.n
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr [here.](http://triscuitsandsoup.tumblr.com/)


End file.
